


Heaven

by honebami



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: M/M, pregame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 15:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13978071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honebami/pseuds/honebami
Summary: [ ndrv3 spoilers ]Ouma and Saihara play a party game.





	Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juicymats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juicymats/gifts).
  * Inspired by [unlikely match](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017450) by [juicymats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juicymats/pseuds/juicymats). 



> for my wonderful friend claus, based on their interpretation of pregame saiouma !! check out their fics !!

“Saihara, there's no point to playing seven minutes in heaven with only two people,” Ouma said, as he and Saihara stood before a gull-white closet door. 

Saihara's bulging grin didn't falter in the least. “It’s the most important game during the slumber party motive in episode 8 of season 41–”

“Because someone died?” Ouma asked, deadpan.

Saihara's greasy hair flicked against his forehead as he nodded. “Yeah, yeah! It was really cool because it was only Mochizuki and Kibakura locked in the closet and they, they kissed and then Kibakura died but Mochizuki didn't do it she was framed and–”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Ouma got that this godforsaken show was bloodying childish party games now, dragging its hot pink fingers across every inch of a teenager’s life to make sure they knew that Danganronpa was everything (and that they knew it was available with uncensored blood in exclusive box sets, so they could make even more money off the bodies of children). 

Saihara pulled the closet door open and pushed his cheek against the side. Ouma stared back at him for a moment before realizing he was probably supposed to go in first. 

“Let's get this over with.” Ouma stepped into the closet and backed himself against a stack of boxes– presumably the belongings of Saihara's ever absent parents, because Saihara kept the swell of his Danganronpa collection on display, a putrid reminder of what Ouma was up against. 

Saihara followed him a little too quickly, almost stepping on Ouma's feet as he drained the light and clicked the door shut. 

At least time spent with Saihara like this was time that kept him away from the static burn of screens in his eyes, kept him seeing someone breathing. Ouma sighed in a shudder. 

Saihara giggled. “I can hear your breath,” he said.

Ouma flinched. “And I can smell yours. You don't need to talk so loud,” he whispered.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, again at his regular volume. “Sorry,” he whispered, and giggled a little more. “This is fun. We’re– really close, huh?”

Something jostled Ouma’s clothes. He reached out on instinct, and his hand met the cotton of Saihara's sleeve; Saihara’s arm locked up under his touch. Ouma pulled his hand back. “It's just me,” he whispered. “You don't need to be so nervous.”

Did Saihara still stare with owl-wide eyes in the darkness?

“S-Sorry,” Saihara said. He clasped a clammy hand around Ouma's upper arm. 

Ouma tried to flatten back against the wall, but there wasn’t room to between the boxes and Saihara's form. 

“C-C-Can I,” Saihara blurted, again too loud, “kiss you?”

Ouma blinked. Oh. He closed his eyes, and breathed out through his nose. “You don't. Actually have to do that in this game,” he said. 

“I want to.”

Ouma's heart twisted at the smile in his words. “Because of Danganronpa?”

Saihara's hair rustled as he shook his head. “Y-You.” He tightened his hold on Ouma. 

Something trembled under Ouma's eyes. “Okay.”

He leaned into the humid heat of Saihara’s sweaty palm as it cupped his cheek. Saihara’s breath came out in erratic pants before he leaned close and pressed his chapped lips to the edge of his nose. 

“You missed, genius,” grumbled Ouma. He laid his hand over Saihara's and guided his thumb over the bumps in his skin til it met the plump edge of his mouth. “Here,” he whispered. “...If you want.”

Saihara made a sound and nudged his thumb between Ouma's lips, nail-tip grazing across his tooth. Their noses bumped as he met his lips with his own, sloppy and drooling.

Ouma didn't hate it when Saihara held his face in both hands, didn't hate it when Saihara trembled flush against him, holding too tight, gasping steam between their teeth, like he would melt through him if he let go. 

Like his mind raced with Ouma and Ouma alone. Satisfaction churned sick in his stomach.

He wrapped his arms around Saihara and trailed hands across his back. It was only because Ouma was warm and alive and there. That’s all it was. But then again, he thought as he sighed into him, he was the only one who would be.


End file.
